


Liquor

by yeaka



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vampires, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 03:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21487435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Philip knows what Ray really wants.
Relationships: Ray Green/Philip Pearson | Traveler 3326
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Liquor

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Travelers or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s only halfway home from the mission when the familiar beat-up car pulls up beside him, and Philip instantly knows who it is, because he only has one friend in the world besides the four he just left. And the term ‘friend’ might even be stretching it. He glances sideways, slowing his pace, and the car slows with him. Ray grins from the driver’s seat and pulls into the closest spot. Philip stops walking completely, just as Ray throws out, “Want a ride?”

He does. In some ways, his new body’s in so much better shape than his old one was, but in other ways, it’s so much _worse_. He really needs to go jogging with Trevor more, even if he doesn’t want to. He should be more fit than he is. His feet are tired, and his jacket’s too thick for how warm the sun’s gotten. He still appreciates that sun, always does, and the relatively clear atmosphere it shines through. He looks at Ray, swamped in the shadow of his own roof, and wonders aloud, “Isn’t it a little early for you to be out?”

Ray shrugs. “That’s what I’ve got the car for.” He reaches out the window to pat the metal door. The trench coat rolled down to his palm doesn’t seem to be too hot for him, and his fingers don’t melt away like they would in stories, but he does withdraw his arm as quickly as it went out. His eyes are just a smidgen red around the edges, betraying his intentions. Philip can feel them boring into him. 

Philip breathes, “Sure,” anyway.

Marcy would kill him. Carly would kill Ray, if she could. And MacLaren wouldn’t be too happy. Even Trevor would be wary. But none of them are around, so Philip walks around the car and lets himself into the passenger’s seat. The door creaks loudly when he shuts it, like confirming his sentence. But it’s not like it’s the first time he’s been alone with Ray. It’s just the first time since he’s really started to understand why Ray keeps coming back to him. 

He’d be lying if he said it disgusted him. He knows it probably should. But he was also disgusting when he turned up at the police station in a drug-induced haze, half responsible for the death of a man that should’ve been his friend, and Ray didn’t judge him then. Ray’s put up with a hell of a lot from him. 

Ray’s conspicuously silent on the drive to the warehouse, but Philip can feel Ray’s eyes on him and knows what it means. Ray’s always smiling when he looks over. Jovial and colloquial. Nothing like the horror stories Philip used to hear about the monsters that hadn’t quite died off yet in the twenty-first. Ray even _smells_ good, but Philip knows he has shit taste in cologne. 

Ray pulls into the back alley behind the warehouse and doesn’t say anything else, leaving the ball in Philip’s court.

Philip could get out and run but doesn’t. He looks over at Ray instead and sees just how crimson his irises have stained. 

Ray asks, “So, you got a girlfriend yet?” A heartbeat where Philip says nothing, and Ray tests, “Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Really?” Then Ray just comes out and says it, adding, “’Cause you’re damn cute.”

Philip’s nose scrunches up. He doesn’t know why. Ray doesn’t _sound_ insincere, but Philip hears it that way, maybe because he’s _not_ cute. In a lot of ways, he’s an even bigger mess than Ray is. For whatever reason, Philip blurts out, “I don’t have any more bets for you.”

“I didn’t say anything about bets.”

Every time Ray opens his mouth to talk, Philip can see the two teeth that are different—the razor-sharp incisors that could slice through Philip’s skin like paper. And for whatever weird reason, his mind lapses into the brief fantasy of _giving in_ to that—of climbing over into Ray’s lap, crowded against the steering wheel, and letting Ray dig right into his throat. A part of him is desperate to know what it’s like. He _wants_ to feel Ray’s mouth on him, Ray’s hot tongue and soft lips and the rough contrast of brutal teeth. He thinks Ray would find a way to make it good for him, one way or another. 

But he can’t get caught up in a twenty-first-er. It’s not his protocol five. Ray pointedly licks his fangs, and Philip shivers, thinking about running his tongue over them too. It’d probably sting. He’d cut himself, and blood would well up in his mouth, but Ray would hungrily lick it out and kiss him again for good measure.

Philip sucks in a deep breath, something that Ray can’t do, and forces himself to get out of the car. He walks away, but Ray calls after him, “Hey, kid—it’s hot out here. Any chance I could come in for a drink?”

Philip’s heart is racing. He hears the double meaning. 

He says, “Sure,” anyway and doesn’t look back.


End file.
